


Guardian of One

by Emachinescat



Category: Merlin (TV), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: AU, Angst, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1232872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look deep within yourself, and remember your true destiny. Only once fire and ice are reunited, and two worlds reconciled, can you unleash your true power and purpose. You have yet to become your true self, Jack Frost. Albion's Sun will rise again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Remember Me Not

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own either, this is for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> This is in progress; I will add chapters as they are written.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Jack was trembling.

He had never trembled before; he was never cold.

But now he shook. He was  _cold_.

His name was Jack Frost. It had been since the Man in the Moon had told him so upon rising out of the icy water on that fateful day, centuries ago. He hadn't even known his own name, so the Man in the Moon had given him one.

But that wasn't his true name.

Jack could feel Baby Tooth shivering violently in his pocket through the thin fabric of his dark blue tunic, but there was nothing he could do. There was nothing that he could do, ever again. His icy blue eyes wandered to his staff, only a couple of feet away, shattered like his soul at the bottom of the ravine in which he'd been tossed. He didn't bother to retrieve it.

He had failed them; the Guardians had trusted him, and he'd failed spectacularly. If only he hadn't followed that voice. He should have known it was a trap; he had walked right into Pitch Black's snare all because of that panicked voice, strong and deep, terrified.  _No!_  it had screamed.  _You idiot!_

Normally, Jack wouldn't have followed a disembodied voice, especially one that was calling him an idiot, but there was something,  _something_  about that noble tone that stirred something deep inside of him. Perhaps it was the pure, unadulterated horror that Jack could now, unfortunately, identify with since the Boogeyman had stepped into his life. But it was familiar, and Jack had followed without question, and now he was stuck at the bottom of a ravine, a complete failure with a broken staff, a small, half-frozen tooth fairy that he could do nothing to help, and his memories.

Memories he had been desperate for, but now he was too afraid to open the box and learn the truth. The voice – it had to have been from his memories – had sounded terrified and angry at the same time, and he doubted that his past had been a very pleasant one. Did he really want to know?

His long fingers caressed the surface of the box as he slowly lifted it from his pocket, doing his best not to disturb Baby Tooth, who had finally settled down somewhat on the other side. His blue eyes stared beseechingly at the container, his lean face as serious as it had ever been, and he slowly, _slowly_  reached for the top.

He had to find out. He owed it to himself, and to his friends, to own up to whatever secrets were hidden within the box. It had, after all, caused Pitch Black to gain the upper hand. He needed to face his mistakes, face his past, and face… himself.

He was still shivering uncharacteristically as he gently pried the box open. He expected to see teeth in the box, as well as his memories, but instead of his baby teeth from his former life, a pure gold light lit up the otherwise empty container.

"Wha-?" he began, and the light shifted, sparkling like a thousand suns, and a voice, one he had never heard, but that was achingly familiar, cool and feminine, ever changing like the tide, and young and old at the same time, said softly,  _Oh, Jack – You are so much more than you have ever dreamed. You are a Guardian, but not the one you think. Look deep within yourself, and remember your true destiny. Only once fire and ice are reunited, and two worlds reconciled, can you unleash your true power and purpose. You have yet to become your true self, Jack Frost. Albion's Sun will rise again._

The light swiftly curled out of the box, twisting intricately through the air as it neared Jack's pale face.  _Remember_ , crooned the voice.  _Remember…_

The light touched Jack's eyes, and his mouth gaped open into a soundless scream. He stopped shaking, and his eyes turned gold.

He remembered.


	2. The Dorocha

"Let me take him," Lancelot said, stealing another glance at the limp servant being held up by Percival. The other knights and the prince stood around the barren courtyard, concern in their eyes. Lancelot noticed with a bit of surprise that Arthur, who normally tried to pretend that he didn't care about his servant, was blatantly worried, and it showed on his pale face.

Arthur shook his head slowly. "Lancelot, carrying a wounded man, alone, it'll take you two or three days to reach Camelot."

"Not if I go through the Valley of the Fallen Kings." Lancelot didn't fancy traveling through the valley, even if he didn't necessarily believe that it was cursed like so many others did. He knew that there was powerful magic in the place, and that he should be wary about going through such a place, despite the fact that he believed - he  _knew_  - that magic wasn't good nor bad. But he would have Merlin with him, he reasoned, and although the warlock was hardly fit to so much as sit up on his own, let alone use magic, just having someone with magic would ease his nerves considerably. And even if Merlin didn't have magic, the man was his friend, and Lancelot would do anything to save him. If it meant going through the Valley of the Fallen Kings, so be it. If it helped Merlin...

Arthur still looked conflicted, his gaze flicking over to the servant who had so altruistically thrown himself in front of the deadly, icy Dorocha to save his master. Seeing his reluctance, Sir Leon stepped in. "Sire, he's right. We cannot abandon the quest."

Arthur nodded shortly. "Okay," he said.

Gwaine walked over brow furrowed. "No," he argued. "Not okay, Princess."

Arthur sighed heavily. "Gwaine, they're right. If we don't continue the quest to close the veil, thousands more will die. Lancelot will get Merlin to Camelot."

"No, I mean," Gwaine corrected, " _I_ want to be the one to take Merlin."

Lancelot scowled. "Gwaine, he'll be perfectly safe with me."

Gwaine crossed his arms over his chest petulantly. "Yeah? Well, he'll be perfectly safer with me."

"Gwaine…" Lancelot muttered wearily, running a hand through his black hair in agitation.

"Look, don't be offended or anything, Lancelot. I just happen to know Merlin better, and I want to see to it personally that he makes it back to Camelot alive."

Lancelot snorted. "Doubtful. I've known him longer; I know more about him."

"I'm going," Gwaine said stubbornly. "Merlin's always been there for me when I needed him, and I'm  _not_ going to abandon him when he needs me."

"What Merlin needs-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Arthur moaned, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Both of you go, I don't care."

Gwaine grinned widely, but Lancelot didn't look convinced. "Are you sure, Arthur?" he asked quietly. "You might need Gwaine for…" he paused, thinking, and then shrugged. "Well, for something, I suppose. The more men, the better, and all that."

"Hey!" Gwaine protested loudly. "I'm  _very_ useful!"

Arthur made an impatient noise in his throat. "Honestly, Gwaine's going to be so busy pestering us about Merlin that he's not going to be much of a help, anyway." He looked around at all the knights who had gathered around the argument, and his eyes locked with Percival's, who was still supporting Merlin, too weak to sit upright or even speak. A pained expression overtook the prince's face as he looked away from Percival for a moment and at his servant, whose chest was stuttering weakly up and down, really the only indication that he was alive at all.

He turned back to Percival. "Get Merlin, will you, Percival? We've wasted enough time arguing. We need to move."

* * *

"Gwaine," said Lancelot, "I think we need to rest." He glanced pointedly at Merlin, who rode slightly ahead of the Lancelot but behind Gwaine so that the knights could keep an eye on him. Merlin looked to be almost completely unconscious, slumped over his horse's neck, face paler than death. He was shivering again.

"There's a stream flowing just ahead," Gwaine nodded, eyes clouded in worry for his friend. "Let's stop there."

They rode on to the stream, and when they got to a place on the bank that looked good to stop, there was a short, quiet battle (mostly fought with glares and hushed, annoyed whispers) about who would carry Merlin. Gwaine walked away triumphant, cradling a limp Merlin in his arms as if he were a swooning maiden, and he laid his friend down by the stream, and as soon as he was settled, Lancelot draped his cloak over the shuddering servant.

"Gwaine, maybe you should scout the area," Lancelot said carefully, trying to keep his face neutral. He wanted to talk to Merlin, see if there was anything the warlock could do to help himself, but he needed Gwaine out of the way before he could.

"It's fine," Gwaine said shortly. "I was already scouting ahead, and you know it. But if you're going to be a paranoid little girl, why don't you go scout the area, Lady Lancelot?"

Lancelot's normally cool temper flared slightly, but he remained calm, reminding himself that Gwaine was Merlin's friend, too, and the other knight was simply acting out because of his worry. Ignoring Gwaine, who was kneeling at Merlin's side, anxiously watching over his friend, Lancelot moved to the stream's bed, dipping his hands in for a drink of the clear, cold water. After only a few short drinks, however, he heard Gwaine talking, and he turned to see if Gwaine had a reason for muttering under his breath, or if he was just spouting nonsense as usual. He was surprised to see that Gwaine was talking to Merlin, who had reached out a trembling hand to dip in the stream.

"Merlin, mate, what are you doing?" Gwaine asked gently, moving to take Merlin's hand out of the frigid water. "You're already frozen, the last thing you need is a dip in a cold brook."

Merlin didn't answer, but his glazed eyes were half-open, and although he didn't try to pull away as Gwaine moved his hand, Lancelot thought that he looked a bit sad, as if he had been enjoying the world for the last time, and he was being held back. Lancelot pushed the grim thought out of his mind, turning back to rinse his face, but at Gwaine's gasp, he turned to see that the area of the stream that Merlin had touched was bubbling, droplets of water rising from the water and hovering ethereally in front of them. Staring, Lancelot moved to Gwaine's side and said weakly, "Gwaine, why don't you go-"

"Not a chance," Gwaine interrupted stubbornly.

 _Lancelot,_  said one of the small spheres of water, and for the first time, Lancelot noticed that the droplets had faces, elven, female, beautiful faces.  _Gwaine._

Before Lancelot could answer, Gwaine asked, "What are you?"

_We are the Villia, spirits of the brooks and streams. Do not fear, Sir Knights. We are not here to harm you. We are here to help._

"My friend is sick," Lancelot told them, throwing caution to the wind. Merlin looked like he was dead already, and if he didn't get help soon, there was every chance he would die before they reached Camelot. "Can you help him?"

Lancelot thought the Villia's faces seemed to reflect concern.  _It is not Merlin's time to die. He has a great destiny ahead of him._

"You mean because of his magic?" Gwaine asked bluntly, and Lancelot stared dumbly at him, shocked.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, Lancelot. I figured it out a long time ago, and from the way you've been acting like a skittish horse, I know you know about it, too." Lancelot blinked, still taken aback as Gwaine turned his attention back to the spirits in front of them.

_There is much you do not know, Gwaine. Merlin has another name, a greater destiny than you could ever imagine. But now, because of the ancient, terrible power of the Dorocha, that destiny is compromised._

Lancelot's heart sank. "Are you saying that there's nothing you can do? He's going to die?"

_He will not die now. He cannot die now._

"But then what-?" Gwaine started, but was cut off by the Villia speaking.

_We can heal him enough that the effects of the Dorocha's curse will be severely weakened. I fear that he will, in time, slowly succumb to the ice, but for now, he will live. Once his destiny has been fulfilled, there will be nothing else tying him to this world. If it were not for Merlin's great power and his destiny, I fear that he would be doomed already._

"But that's not fair!" Gwaine protested. "He's going to live just long enough to get his job done, and then he's going to die? Merlin deserves so much more!"

 _He will get his reward, Sir Knight,_ said the Villia.  _I can assure you of that. Now, allow my sisters to help him heal. You can sleep now, for you are safe here tonight. Here, you have refuge. Sleep..._

And, as if they had little or no choice in the matter, they slept.


End file.
